


a trail to follow again

by reogulus



Category: The Borgias (Showtime TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 19:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reogulus/pseuds/reogulus
Summary: Post 2x09, Cesare asked Micheletto to stay for the night he helped Cesare dispose of Juan.





	a trail to follow again

They stood upon that bridge in silence. The moon poured its light generously upon the Tiber, upon their heaving bodies, upon the bloodstained short blade in his master’s grip.

Amidst the sheer awe he confessed to feeling, Micheletto did not sense the shared, unspoken sense of content that he usually felt in Cesare Borgia’s company after their conspired killing was done. The awe stayed with Micheletto; he, who killed his own father, nonetheless could not have imagined what ought to have run through his master’s mind when Juan Borgia pulled his older brother into a hug. Surely, at the moment of the embrace, if any other older brother in Rome was placed in the very same shoes as Cesare’s, he would probably have had a moment of hesitation from his murderous intent. But Cesare Borgia unsheathed the concealed blade, cleanly and decidedly, without any pause. If he was at all caught off guard by Juan’s final act, the element of surprise did not slow his actions in the slightest.

This fratricide reminded the assassin nothing of the memory of his own patricide many years ago. When life drained from his father’s reddened eyes of a drunkard, Micheletto had only wanted to run away. But Cesare, clever and measured as ever, did not forget to toss the blade off the bridge. It barely made a sound upon entering the dark waters.

“Your Eminence?” at last, a fleet of clouds floated across and dimmed the moonlight. Micheletto called out in a whisper, barely louder than the sounds of the river running beneath them.

“Come, Micheletto,” the cardinal turned to answer his servant. “Let us return to the banquet.”

 

~

 

The celebrations were almost at an end when they entered the grand halls. Maidservants and manservants were carrying away dishes and mopping floors, the guests scattered and dispersed; the music and the laughter of dancing children had long since stopped.

Cesare led Micheletto to a corner in the main kitchen, where unfinished bottles and goblets of wine were huddled together on a small table. Cesare gestured at him to pick up the alcohol, a wordless command with which he complied in matching silence.

They then took a long and shadowy detour to Cesare’s apartments, a route which Micheletto knew all too well. His master’s steps were hurried and muted, as if he were being chased by an unseen enmity.

The curtains in Cesare’s bedroom were not drawn, and the moonlight shined through brightly, too brightly for eyes accustomed to the darkest of nights, and covered everything in the room under a veil of intangible silver and mercury. Micheletto bent to set down the wine, with his back against the windows. Cesare undid the clasps of his cloak, and draped it on an armchair.

A hot bath was drawn and ready for Cesare, steam still rising from the tub. The moon was so bright that the hazy yellow candlelight in the room was rendered almost perfunctory. Micheletto was sure that Cesare ordered the bath to be drawn at this hour before he ordered Micheletto to follow and find Juan’s whereabouts. How could the cardinal dress himself in his red garb come sunrise, if any blood or scuffle remained on his person from the night before?

Cesare removed his jacket and took a sip of the wine from a goblet. His master’s expression softened as he tasted wine. When he tugged his undershirt over his head, Micheletto saw that the muscles in his arms and back relaxed a little. The assassin hadn’t realized the enormity of the tension in Cesare’s posture, but he saw it clearly at that moment, how it still weighed on his shoulders.

“Your Eminence?” he called out again, again feeling uncertain about what reason he had to remain. The uncertainty was an unfamiliar, almost alarming feeling to Micheletto. He’d gotten used to reading Cesare, and while Cesare might still surprise him from time to time, he hadn’t expected Juan to die at Cesare’s hands tonight. He’d gone into many fights and missions happily knowing only the faint contours of his master’s plans—it can be dangerous to know too much, and he knew Cesare disliked questions—but this was different. He’d expected Cesare to beat some sense into his brother, perhaps a few serious threats, or perhaps a duel to be arranged at a more sober time for Juan, but his master was many, many steps ahead.

“Come, Micheletto, wash my back,” Cesare, naked in the tub, waved at him. This was a first, to be sure.

“Yes, Eminence,” he nodded and removed his own cloak and jacket. When Micheletto seated himself on the wooden stool behind Cesare, he noticed Cesare shifting his weight in the bath water.

“Are you restless?” Micheletto muttered under his breath, as if speaking to himself. Cesare turned around to face him, his long dark curls almost sweeping the tip of Micheletto’s nose. Micheletto looked up to meet his eyes, but found Cesare looking away.

“I am unsure what the morning will bring.”

“Rest assured the knowledge is safe with me.”

“Of course it is. But sooner rather than later...my father will know.”

Micheletto picked up the washing cloth, and rolled up his sleeves. He squeezed the rag and sprinkled a small stream of water gently upon Cesare’s right shoulder.

“That is true. Your brother has but too many enemies…Was he not within an inch of his life, just recently, when the chandelier fell onto his bed?”

“Micheletto…” his master sighed. “I swore an oath to my father, never to lie to him, or any member of the Borgia clan. If I could have lied to Juan tonight, I needed not kill him.”

“I understand, Your Eminence.”

Cesare turned his back on Micheletto, and silence fell upon them again. Micheletto pressed his thumbs against the back of Cesare’s neck, and splayed his palms upon the shoulders. He massaged, gently, until another sigh was extracted from the cardinal, this time much more content. There was the slightest shade of red rising to the surface of the bath water—of rosebud oils or of the final remnants of brotherly blood, Micheletto would not know.

“I never told you the true reason why I killed my father.”

Cesare turned again, this time their eyes met squarely. “I recall you said there were many reasons, Micheletto.”

“It was a night of particular suffering for my mother. The man with whom she shared a bed with for years became a monster she’d never known. He’d lost the money for food at a gambling table, and he drank to forget the consequences this loss would bring upon his wife, his children. Eventually, he drank enough to forget himself. He came home and was going to split my mother’s skull with a butcher’s knife. I pushed him…I pushed him against the wall and the knife fell on the floor. I grabbed the blade before he could reach down, and stuck the sharp end in his guts.”

Cesare nodded, and did not speak for a while. He took the cloth and ran it down his arms, across his chest. Micheletto waited.

“Was he kind to you, before the devil of the drink possessed him?”

“He took me to bathhouses, and washed my back at every bath.” Micheletto paused, and then added, “If he’d hugged me that night, I would have forgiven him immediately. Few would have shown the determination you demonstrated before your brother.”

Cesare smiled. “How old were you, when it happened?”

“I had twelve years, Eminence. My mother prayed for me nightly, ever since. She’d hoped God would save my soul. Not my father’s, though.”

“And you turned to this profession, for you did not wish to be saved.”

Micheletto paused. He rose from the stool, half-bent, scooped some water in his palm to bring down Cesare’s back.

“It wasn’t my soul that the killing affected. The taste for violence, it was passed to me from my father before my birth. The death of my father at my hands freed me to pursue what I was destined to do—there was no other life in this world I would hesitate to take. This was the plain truth that I could not subject my mother to bear.”

“I should be glad to have found and kept you.”

“That is kind, Eminence. In time, you might find yourself freed also.”

Micheletto looked out the window. The moonlight was dimmer now; shadows of tree branches fell in long stripes across the floor.

“Is it strange that I feel the freedom already, but it rests most uneasily on my heart?” Cesare murmured.

“The day will come, Your Eminence, when you receive command of the armies you are destined to lead. And you will think of this uneasiness no longer.”

“And when the day comes…”Cesare stood from the tub, and turned to his servant. “You would still decline to be my second-in-command?”

Micheletto rose from the stool, careful to avert his gaze from Cesare’s member. “I belong in the shadows, and my purpose is to assist Your Eminence in matters war cannot resolve.”

Cesare raised his hand, his sword hand, close to Micheletto’s cheek, but the touch did not quite make contact with his skin or beard. “Stay with me, my shadow, until dawn. This night has been too long, for me to continue on the path alone.”

In that moment, Micheletto understood, Cesare did not wish for him to be second, either. Like darkness and light, he and his master, were always two sides of the same coin. They were always meant to be one.

The assassin tugged his undershirt off. This time, he concealed the overwhelming feeling of awe. “As you wish, Eminence.”

 

~

 

They’d lain together before, to be sure, on darker and wetter nights, camped in the wilderness for some remote mission. Cesare always huddled close to Micheletto for warmth, when they had to put out the fires to avoid detection. But that was a far cry from such an invitation to Cesare’s own bed.

Cesare kissed him first, his lips soft as a spring blossom, but his embrace was forceful. Micheletto was careful to put an arm around the small of Cesare’s back, so he would not be dragged down into the bath; he’d always paused before making any bodily contact with Cesare, and old habits did not die easily.

“Wait a moment, please,” Micheletto broke free for a moment, and quickly stepped to the windows to draw the curtains shut. The moonlight was still bright, bearing witness to all that occurred in the night. He did not want to feel exposed, on the cusp of this very moment.

“You tease too much,” Cesare stepped out of his bath impatiently, splashing water all over. He pulled Micheletto close to the tub again, and muffled the breath between them with a deeper kiss. When the kiss was broken again, Micheletto was almost unsteady on his feet. In a flash of mischievous urges, Cesare pushed him down by the neck, and his head immersed in the water for a few seconds before Cesare pulled him up again.

Micheletto coughed, clutching the edge of the tub. “I am puzzled, Eminence, what you want from me now.”

“Oh, Micheletto,” Cesare planted a kiss on his forehead, kissing away the water driplets from his copper-toned hair. He had one hand around Micheletto’s hip, another undoing the ties on his trousers. “I’ve only ever wanted everything from you.”

When the two of them became as naked as each other, Cesare grabbed hold of the wine again. He nudged Micheletto towards the bed, and when the assassin lay down on the duvets, took a gulp. He then pointed the opening of the bottle towards Micheletto, as if to offer him a sip, but Micheletto soon felt rivulets of the cold liquid running down his chest, abdomen, and crotch. As he gasped in surprise, Cesare chuckled deeply and ran his tongue down Micheletto’s body to chase the wine. At last, he cupped Micheletto’s balls in his palm, licked it clean of moisture, and took the erection into his mouth.

If he’d been caught unawares as many times in a swordfight as he’d been caught tonight by Cesare Borgia’s acts, he would surely have perished.

The pope’s son was disciplined in choosing people to share beds with, but he clearly did not restrict himself to the female sex. When Cesare entered Micheletto from behind, chest pressed against his back, their heartbeats were almost entirely in sync. Micheletto disliked making too many sounds during sex, and when he was with other men, often covered their mouths to forbid cries of pleasure that only sounded like performance. Cesare liked being loud: he went deeper and deeper into Micheletto with every thrust, and the pleasure of conquering another body was evident in the ebb and flow of every grunt and sigh.

“Eminence…” Micheletto whispered, and tried to turn over to lie on his back, so he could kiss Cesare once more. But his master shook his head and kept him down. Micheletto felt the touch of Cesare’s fingers running down his back, the callused fingertips of his sword hand, tracing every scar left by the whipping he’d endured a lifetime ago.

“This, too,” Cesare stopped his thrusts for a moment, and he was still deep in Micheletto’s body. Micheletto felt an open mouthed kiss on the back of his neck, and Cesare’s heart was beating faster now. “And all the blood that’s spilled between us…we are stronger with each other. Never leave me, Micheletto Corella.”

Finally, the realization dawned on him. His master did not spill the wine on his body as an act of decadent pleasure. It was the blood he’d helped his master spill, the blood of all who stood in Cesare Borgia’s way to fulfill his destiny.

“As you wish, Your Eminence.” Micheletto found Cesare’s hand with his own, and laced their fingers together.

 

~

 

The assassin woke at dawn, the bed next to him empty. Only the mess of passionate intimacy remained among the duvets. He rolled off the bed, put on his trousers, and used the washing cloth soaked in cold bath water to wipe his torso and crotch.

There were birds singing out the window, which flew off when he drew back the curtains. It was a new day, without pomp or circumstance or song for those who lived in shadows. The dark clothes in which his master committed fratricide the night before were strewn on the floor, and the red robes were missing from the coat rack.

His master was clean and bloodless again. And, with this newfound freedom, he would soon be rid of the constraints of the red robes he’d loathed so much; the assassin was sure of it.

Micheletto got dressed and opened the side door from which he entered last night. The corridor was still dark as he walked down to the exit. He would conceal himself again among the shadows, before the sun rose fully.


End file.
